Monotonous Melancholia
Warm chocolate slides down hoarse throats and his petroleum smile shines. Wrapped up in Marvel as the daylight dims through half opened blinds. Empty boxes from shoes never worn down paths never traveled. Cloth lambs screaming as their sides are impaled by tiny teeth. Clapping hands for the gospel of Jesus by those in khaki shorts who worship the yellow sky and kiwis. The phone beeps every night as an ending and the liquid seeps every morning as a wake up: monotonous melancholia.